


this means war

by Sierra



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Fighting As Foreplay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Rivals to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra/pseuds/Sierra
Summary: Five matches in five cities, two ruthless managers, and two rivals in over their heads.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a much longer version of a [meme prompt](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/post/146738588705) that, as usual, took a life of its own. hahahaaa...
> 
> there will be some boxing jargon/terminology but it's not super important.

“You’re the two most popular fighters in Japan,” Kisumi tells them as his phone rings off the hook. He ignores it, all attention focused on Rin and Sousuke. “ _Officially_ , according to the last issue of Numbers. It’s time to take advantage, boys.”

Kisumi tosses a newspaper across the table. It’s open to the spread for the front page and features candid shots of Rin and Sousuke from their singular bout last year that resulted in a draw—a first for them both—and a broken nose for Sousuke. In one picture Sousuke is brooding at the camera with a balled-up towel held to his nose while Rin is throwing a fist high for the crowd in the foreground, one knee up on the turnbuckle.

Rin’s mouth curls into a smirk. A draw was the last thing he expected but it’s better than an outright loss. He knows for a fact Sousuke doesn’t share that opinion. It’s far from the first thing they’ve disagreed on.

The media frenzy that arose kept Sousuke in hiding for a week while Rin basked in the flurry of interest following the success of the match. None of Rin’s fights in the last twelve months have attracted that kind of attention again. He’s starting to miss putting together a week’s worth of outfits—one for every day that sports magazines and product reps looking for ambassadors were knocking down his door.

His eyes slide to Sousuke in the chair next to him, legs sprawled apart and chin resting on a fist. No immediate reaction, no way of telling for certain what’s going through his head. Sousuke is unreadable, much like he is in the ring. A recipe with no instructions, pain medication with no label indicating dosage or side effects, a dildo with battery requirements too complicated to bother with.

Rin would sooner glean information about the moon landing from a rock than get a read on Sousuke.

“Can someone please react?” Kisumi presses. “Anything. Throw a tantrum, plead for mercy?”

“Alright,” Rin says slowly. “And how do you plan to _take advantage_?”

“Do I have to spell everything out for you two? My god.” Kisumi rolls his eyes and slaps a hand on the table, clearly relishing in both drawing it out and explaining like Rin and Sousuke are first-graders having problems understanding an algebra equation. “I mean a tour, obviously.”

Sousuke is unmoved, a sloth even at a time when it calls for his input and for him to put a fucking leash on his scheming manager. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It _is_ a lot of work,” Kisumi agrees, shifting back to Rin. “But if the payoff is worth it you’d be in, right?”

“I need proof the payoff is gonna be worth it,” Sousuke grouses. “Show me some numbers.”

“Shut up and let him answer, Sou.”

Rin rolls his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. “Knowing you, this is probably an idea in its preliminary stages. Not sure I like the sound of that. It’s a risky move either way you look at it—the summer season is right around the corner. I’ve been working on closing a deal with Puma and I really fucking doubt they’re gonna let me disappear to pursue my own agenda.”

“It can only help _their_ agenda,” Kisumi points out. “Get one of every product in your size and wear it to the meet and greets, the pre-match interviews, the magazine shoots, the after parties. My proposal is this: ten weeks, five matches across five cities.”

Settling back in his chair to ponder that, Rin hums. “Five wins over the same person will mean nothing. I can’t afford to put my competitive career on hold just to beat the crap out of Sousuke for three months.”

The jibe incites Sousuke as intended. He glares at Rin. “Didn’t I see you try to tear out a ref’s throat when Tachibana pounded you into the mat last week? You shrieked something about him needing glasses so loud even the TV crews picked it up.”

“Not everyone gets a win over me,” Rin retorts, baring his teeth.

“Our match was a _draw_.”

“Were you concussed, too? The judges clearly were to declare a fucking deadlock.” Rin is pushing himself to his feet before he realises it. Sousuke follows suit to stand over him, his eyes scathing. Rin’s fists clench at his sides but he holds back the rising swell of irritation. “My technique is better. I’m faster. My nose didn’t mysteriously reshape itself two weeks later. I’d ask your surgeon for a refund, by the way.”

Sousuke’s mouth twists. His right shoulder draws back, prompting Rin to almost assume a defensive stance, but Kisumi gets between them before it can escalate. He shoves Sousuke back into his chair roughly, and then it’s Rin’s turn to be manhandled back to a neutral position. He scowls but sinks to his chair without protest.

He grinds his teeth and exhales noisily. “ _Anyway_. What if we don’t pull any crowds in?”

“You’re both at the peak of your careers, there’s so much hype around your individual matches…so why not bring you together again and give the people what they want? Technically it makes no sense because it was match you both lost... But I ran a Twitter poll and sent emails around to get a feel for interest from the major sponsors and a few potential venues. And the verdict? A series of planned SouRin matches seems to be pretty well received. And what’s more, big companies are willing to fund it because both of you are serious drawcards. I can make all of this happen for you two. It makes so much _sense_.”

Sousuke’s brow creases. “The fuck is SouRin?”

“It’s a portmanteau,” Kisumi informs. “Very happening right now. Besides, we need a headline of some description for the tour and I’m working that in if I have to chew my own foot off to do it.”

Rin groans. “Can we just talk business without the bullshit, Shigino? I’m losing years off my life here.”

Kisumi pauses, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Is that a yes?”

“It is if you can pull it together within a week. I want all the projected numbers—seating, costs, ticketing—and a copy of the correspondence with venues and sponsors sent to Gou by Monday. If they’re not convincing and _accurate_ , I’m out and you can find someone else for the job.”

“Oh, but Rin,” Kisumi sing-songs, “there _is_ no one else for the job.”

Sousuke has fallen uncharacteristically silent. He folds his arms and avoids Rin’s gaze when it flits to him.

Rin’s always known him to hold a grudge. He’s probably still nursing a wounded ego from the shattered nasal bone, though it happened a good year ago. Rin hasn’t seen Sousuke since then; he’s only caught glimpses of Sousuke’s televised interviews, and he doesn’t count the time Sousuke’s voice filtered out over the radio speakers in his car. He switched to the finance broadcast the second it registered who it was endorsing a new type of sugar-free Powerade.

“I hope you’re right about this,” Rin mutters.

* * *

When he breaks the news to Gou, she gapes at him with one foot still in the bathroom, wrapped in a bathrobe with her hair bundled in a towel. Her eyebrows knit. “Are you serious?”

“Does Shigino seem like the type to play a prank on two people who could knock his teeth out?” Rin asks, throwing his training bag to the floor and collapsing on the padded window seat. The sun is high and it casts warmth across his skin. “Looks like he sprung it on Sousuke, too,” he adds, laughing. “You should have seen his face.”

Gou’s apartment is too small for him to feel comfortable anywhere but near the window, where he can at least see the sprawling city below. She could live in the outer suburbs—like Rin—where it’s more spacious and you can actually breathe. She has the money for it, but for some reason she chose a high-rise, open-plan apartment with a balcony that barely has room for her two Venus flytraps.

Rin finds it claustrophobic, but she seems perfectly at home living in a shoebox so he keeps that opinion so himself.

“Rin,” she says warningly, brandishing a comb.

“ _Yes_ , I’m serious. I really doubt he can put his money where his mouth is, though. You know, Sousuke doesn’t talk much. The one thing he did say to me was that Shigino is a snake in the grass. Slippery and shit,” he mumbles, cheek pressed to the glass. It fogs over with his breath.

Gou smacks him on the arm with the comb. “Kisumi is one of my best friends,” she scolds. “Don’t talk about him like that. He has Sousuke’s best interests at heart _and_ yours.”

“I don’t have to like him just because you do,” Rin scoffs. “It’s weird enough that you’re basically my boss, Gou. We don’t need to have the same friends, too.”

“You don’t have any friends.”

Rin takes the defensive, glowering. “I’m never home long enough to make any!”

“No,” Gou grins. “You’re just too abrasive and temperamental for everyone who isn’t related to you and therefore obligated to put up with your shit.”

Rin is sorely tempted to flip her off, but she has a right hook to rival Makoto. And unlike Makoto, she isn’t afraid to use it. “ _I_ pay _you_.”

“Oh, yeah,” Gou muses. “Huh. I guess that’s the other reason I stick around. Hold that thought, we still need to talk about this.”

She disappears to get dressed and re-emerges in record time, hurrying to the bed for her laptop. She throws it open and starts typing. Rin leans left to see what she’s so focused on, but her head is obscuring the screen. The damp strands of her hair seep slowly into her shirt.

“Kisumi sent me two emails,” she says after a while. She looks over her shoulder at him, eyes round with wonder. “All the expenses and a lineup of locations… Wait, the tour launch is in a month? We better start getting the word out or you’re never going to fill that many seats in such a short time…”

“That’s impossible,” Rin insists, scrambling to the bed. He reads the first few lines of an email to find it _is_ apparently entirely possible. “What? I just left his office an hour ago! And I never agreed to this.”

“He’s an efficient guy,” Gou remarks. “As for that, it says right here at the bottom,” she scrolls down to the closing line for the damning evidence, “that you agreed if Kisumi could make a certain timeframe. This is a verbal contract now.”

* * *

Rin studies Sousuke’s jawline closely. “Have you shaved in the last month?”

“Not that it’s your business,” Sousuke says, running a hand over his stubble, “but no.”

“Trying something new?” Rin ventures, wondering how a full beard might change Sousuke’s countenance. The image conjured by his mind makes him instantly decide he doesn’t want to know. “You’re always clean-shaven for shoots and that five o’clock shadow definitely didn’t co-star in your last Powerade ad.”

Sousuke directs him a sidelong glance. “Why are you interested all of a sudden?”

Rin shrugs. “I’m bored? It’s not like there’s much to do until we get moving, so…”

“Read a book,” Sousuke says, rifling through the seat pocket for a magazine. “Do multiplication in your head. Make friends with a poisonous reptile.”

Rin is silent for thirty seconds before boredom takes hold again. “Is that seriously all you managed to grow in a _month_? One of my sponsors has hair supplements with great ratings, I could get you a deal—”

Sousuke’s stare is flat, and it silences him.

“This is uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.”

“ _I’m_ uncomfortable.”

“You made your point, Matsuoka. Now move over.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Rin hisses. A short struggle with the seatbelt ensues before he sighs in defeat. “Shit, there’s no more room.”

Next to him, Sousuke grunts. His elbow is jammed into Rin’s side but he doesn’t try to move Rin by force. He verifies that Rin is indeed as far to the right as he can get, then thumps back against the headrest. “You asked for it when you tried to outsmart Kisumi. The guy writes contracts in his sleep, how could meeting your simpleminded demands be challenging to him?”

Rin pulls out the tray of the seat in front with a huff. “ _Fine_ , I underestimated him a little. So what?”

“So we’re trapped together in premium economy for two and a half hours because Kisumi is a cheap bastard and you wanted estimates on _seating costs_.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Rin says airily.

A bold-faced lie. He has the window seat and minus three inches on Sousuke. A couple of hours in cramped conditions is nothing for him.

“I have no fucking leg room.”

“That’s the least of your problems,” Rin muses, turning slightly in his seat. A few rows back, a pair of girls has their phones out. By the angle, they’re attempting to zoom in on the back of Sousuke’s head. “Looks like an opportunity for you to join the mile high club, huh?”

“What?” Sousuke mutters, following Rin’s gaze.

He curses under his breath and slouches in the seat, trying to either become one with it or make himself as small as possible. Quite the feat considering Sousuke is the size of something that should be in a shipping crate in the cargo hold, and it proves useless when the bolder of the two girls slinks down the aisle to approach Sousuke for a selfie. He obliges with more of a grimace than a smile while Rin turns to the window to smother his laughter and stay out of the picture.

When the second girl finally plucks up the courage, Sousuke continues to try to avoid the limelight that comes with the territory of being a nationally-ranked boxer. He manages to dodge her by excusing himself to the bathroom, and he’s gone so long Rin considers whether someone might have slipped him a laxative at the airport bar. Kisumi already warned him Sousuke hates flying. Two glasses of bourbon did the trick in taking the edge off his nerves, and nobody approached them after Sousuke insisted on sitting in a booth at the very back, far from any of the television screens.

Sousuke returns with two minutes to spare before takeoff, the tips of his ears red as the girls giggle to themselves. Rin glances back to see the second girl tugging down her shirt to show off the messy scrawl of Sousuke’s signature at the curve of her breast. Sousuke refuses to make eye contact when Rin nudges him once, twice.

“One word,” Sousuke says so quietly Rin strains to hear. “I dare you.”

Smirking, Rin tugs his beanie down over his eyes and settles in for a trip with his own in-flight entertainment free of charge.

* * *

It’s Rin’s victory in Osaka.

While the referee takes his arm and hoists it high, Rin is looking over his shoulder, blinking away the sweat dripping into his eyes. Sousuke drops to the mat and rolls under the bottom rope, tearing off his gloves and shoving them at Kisumi. He glances back to Rin, expression tight and inscrutable.

Rin tries to mouth _come back here_ and _be a good sport_ and _you fought a really fucking good match_ but Sousuke makes his way back up the ramp.

It feels hollow. Sousuke’s back as he disappears past the curtains is all the acknowledgment Rin gets. Kisumi shrugs at him helplessly and follows like any manager would to console their sulking client.

Gou is clapping in the first row, her eyes bright with joy that Rin should be feeling, too.

He’s earned this. The right to be proud of his efforts, the long road it’s taken him to get here. Years of discipline and long nights and early mornings and backbreaking work to harden his resolve and steel his competitive spirit. Sacrifices in missing out on family gatherings, birthdays, Gou’s graduation…

It should feel like any other victory.

When the ref legs go, Rin’s arm drops back to his side. His grin is forced and stretched across his face but he knows the winner’s duty. He walks through the crowd, endures the hands of strangers patting his back and making a grab for his sweat-soaked towel in one instance.

At the end, he encases Gou in his arms, whispering his thanks to her ear. His grin is genuine as the rush of adrenaline fades to a trickle. He gets so swept up in it that he forgets to check with Kisumi later if Sousuke was watching everything from backstage on the rare chance he’s learned how to be a gracious loser.

* * *

The post-match interview is engaging while it stays on topic. The second it doubles back to his personal life and tries to pry open a lid Rin keeps tightly shut, his mood takes a nosedive. Being in the room any longer with five reporters, two cameras and a microphone in front of his face poised to collect any potentially salacious word that can be misconstrued takes its toll. Rin cuts the interview short by getting up and leaving without a word.

Gou begged off early tonight for a dinner date with Kisumi. She claims to have not seen him in forever, but that’s an exaggeration and they both know it.

She makes time for Kisumi whenever they’re in the same city, and she’s on the phone with him a minimum of twice a week. Rin knows that much for sure, having furtively snuck a look at her cell to discover that, unsurprisingly, Kisumi and Gou gossip like a pair of old ladies at a bingo table. The conversations are about as riveting as he would have imagined.

He never wants to read such intimate details of Sousuke’s life again. It was the hot topic in the message thread Rin had the misfortune to open, and he’s probably never getting that ten minutes of his life back.

Rin cleans off his gear one more time to cool off. Giving himself something to do winds his thoughts down to a quiet buzz.

The stadium is a ghost town past midnight. He moves about without worrying about who might catch him compulsively disinfecting his gloves for the third time, pacing back and forth across the locker room to take out the last of his jitters.

After the irritation dissipates, Rin packs up the rest of his things and tugs a cap on. A bit of anonymity never hurts. Much as he likes the attention, he’s been grilled to hell and back about what it felt like to dodge Sousuke’s punches and the contentious issue of his dating life has been put under a microscope. Enough for one night.

He gathers up his duffel and makes for an exit at the back in case anyone is still around. The lights of the stadium are near-blinding and when he slips out the fire door on the bottom level, the dark consumes him. In the moment it takes his eyes to adjust, Sousuke pushes off the wall and faces him, hands deep in his pockets.

“What are you still doing hanging around?”

“I could ask you the same,” Rin snaps, clutching his chest. “You could have given me a goddamn heart attack.”

“Don’t think it’d be that easy to kill you. Gou mentioned you might be here late,” Sousuke says as if that explains the reason he’s lurking at the back of a stadium at one in the morning. All it does is spur Rin’s exasperation back to life. “And that I might catch you if I waited.”

Rin frowns. “What the fresh fuck are you doing talking to my sister?”

Sousuke gives a one-shouldered shrug. “She’s friends with Kis. Do the very basic math.”

“Two plus two equals you’re a jackass,” Rin states, letting the fire door close behind him and hefting the duffel to his shoulder. “See you next time I wipe the floor with you.”

Sousuke keeps stride with him easily as he walks off. He tries to ignore it at first, convinced Sousuke’s patience is far less than his own, given his childish reaction to losing earlier. Sousuke shadows his steps wordlessly, a stifling presence at his back. The adrenaline that kicked through Rin during the match is back with a vengeance, the heat of blood roaring through his ears, chasing a shiver down his spine. He can hear Sousuke’s breath, steady and calm, while his own grows shallower by the second.

Rin skids to a halt and rounds on him. “I’m gonna ask you this once: why are you following me?”

Sousuke is standing close. His eyes are dark pools with no reflection, his face barely visible between an upturned collar and the dark. Suddenly Rin longs to be back under the dizzying stadium lights, standing over Sousuke’s body in the ring instead of outside where he can’t see, can’t feel anything except the intensity of Sousuke’s gaze.

“Answer me,” he grits out.

“Good match,” Sousuke murmurs at last, shifting to leave.

Rin stares at his back, realising that he’s sick of Sousuke turning it on him when it’s convenient. He barely knows Sousuke and he might have brought this on himself by agreeing to the tour in the first place, but the attitude grates on him. It sets something in him alight, something he doesn’t care to examine too closely because there’s never been a way to make sense of the pull he feels towards Sousuke in and out of the ring.

He lashes out to take Sousuke by the shoulder, forcing him around again, and gets in his space. The duffel drops out of his hand as everything about Yamazaki Sousuke clamors at the forefront for his attention, deafening and overwhelming and bewildering as hell.

“You waited all that time just to fucking congratulate me?” Rin says under his breath. “I don’t believe you.”

“Trust issues?”

In response, Rin locks an arm across Sousuke’s chest and shoves him to the wall. There’s no resistance in Sousuke. He doesn’t push back or balk or try to turn the tables. He just gazes down at Rin, as maddeningly calm as ever.

Rin’s mouth hardens into a line. “Stop avoiding me, Sousuke.”

“Can’t you accept it for what it is?” Sousuke asks. “I wasn’t in a great mood when the judges decided you were the more technical fighter. The faster one. Maybe they don’t like my surgeon’s work.”

“Is that what this is about?” Rin snorts and lets up on Sousuke. “If I knew you were so _sensitive_ , I wouldn’t have said anything about it. I was under a lot of stress that day with the Puma thing. They were riding my ass about giving an answer, and I—”

“And I needed time to get over it.”

Rin drags his cap down, sighing. “So that half-assed congratulations _was_ sincere? From the bottom of your heart?”

For the first time in their short, too-complex history, Sousuke grins, and it takes Rin’s breath away. The burning need for air claws at his lungs until he remembers.

“How do you think I’ve lasted this long in the competitive circuit?”

“By running off every time you lose?” Rin suggests, curving a finger under his chin. “A drug habit? Stalking whoever beats you with potentially homicidal intent? I just don’t know, Sousuke. So many options, all valid.”

“I’ll save you the trouble,” Sousuke murmurs. “None of them are right.”

Rin doesn’t get to ask what is. Sousuke steps close and his mouth finds Rin’s in a kiss that lasts all of a heartbeat. Not that he’s wondered, but Sousuke’s lips are strangely soft where he assumed they’d be chapped or rough from all the teeth gritting and cheek biting. Sousuke deepens it, starts to press for Rin’s lips to part and the explosive heat along Rin’s skin catapults his pulse to a frantic pace.

It’s over by the time Rin realises he wants more. Sousuke is drawing away, a faint smirk curling at one side of his mouth just as Rin figures it out.

The stolen glances, the unexplainable power of each strike, the way he instinctually knows to counteract every move of Sousuke’s without throwing off the rhythm of the fight. Rin’s tongue slides along the inside of his lip in quiet wonder. The residual taste of Sousuke is enough to drop him back to his senses abruptly.

Rin blinks slowly, hazily. He knots a hand in the hair at the back of Sousuke’s head and uses it to bring him close again. “Oh, hell no.”

He goes in for the kiss this time. Against him, Sousuke finally reacts. His body tenses, every muscle rigid as if Rin’s response is unexpected and he’s preparing for escape, but Rin’s having none of it. His teeth sink in just so, and Sousuke’s mouth opens for a breath or protest. Rin grins, grazing his tongue along Sousuke’s. It’s enough to entice Sousuke to surrender, to draw him in and push him to search for more. His mouth is eager and hot against Rin’s.

That’s when Rin shoves Sousuke away, and the glare that lands on him as Sousuke stumbles back is equal parts aroused and _pissed_.

“Consolation prize," Rin states.

Sousuke appraises him with a newfound interest. Like he’s seeing Rin for the first time, free of the politics of their sport and the spotlight they’ve found themselves under. He touches his lip to check for blood and it comes away clean. His stare is implacable but Rin doesn’t shift an inch.

This is his playground as much as Sousuke’s. Head games between rivals are nothing new, and he isn’t about to ask where it is Sousuke stands with him. He needs to find that out for himself.

“This isn’t over,” Sousuke mutters.

Rin flashes his teeth in a grin. “Counting on it.”

* * *

“He’s late,” Kisumi says as Gou lines up her next shot. “He’s _never_ late.”

He’s not panicking yet, too levelheaded and rational to lose it over a late arrival.

Sousuke is his most valuable asset. Gou knows he’s far from safe in Rin’s hands but she also knows Sousuke can hold his own against her brother, and her brother can be incredibly predictable. Unlike Rin, Sousuke thinks before he acts. Their similarities begin and end with a shared love of their sport.

Gou is reasonably confident that their issues will resolve, time allowing. After all, they’re both different breeds of stubborn, and she heard somewhere that stupidity cancels itself out.

And if not, the Mikoshiba brothers are looking like a promising investment. One for her and one for Kisumi.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Gou squints down the length of her cue stick, pulls her elbow in close to aim. She sinks two balls in a single hit and grins in victory. “Maybe he just got lost. You said he does that a lot, right? Too bad you can’t plant a GPS chip in him.” She pauses as she flags down a waitress for another round of Heinekin, crinkling her nose thoughtfully. “Can you?”

Kisumi laughs, draping himself over the corner of the pool table. “Sounds illegal. Besides, if he ever found out I lack even a little faith in him, he’d stop talking to me for a week. Or until he got hungry, whichever happened first.”

“You need to loosen up,” she advises, holding a beer out for him. “Sousuke can take care of himself.”

“Not really,” Kisumi admits, tipping the bottle back for a mouthful. “He’s kind of high maintenance for what he is.”

“Wanna swap him for Rin?” Gou asks wryly. Blood or not, Rin’s need to be pampered and fussed over is sometimes enough to make her want to quit her job. “Rin’s a picky eater. He won’t take pain meds unless they’re dissolved in water. And he won’t sleep on a bed unless he can deck it out with this one Egyptian cotton set he drags everywhere with us.”

“On second thought,“ Kisumi says, holding his beer out in mock cheers, “you can keep him.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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